


The Gift of Poise

by Ammeh



Series: FE3H Wankfic [4]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Churches & Cathedrals, F/F, Masturbation, Nipple Clamps, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Public Masturbation, Pushy Hilda Valentine Goneril, Railroading, Under-negotiated Kink, sexy bullying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:09:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ammeh/pseuds/Ammeh
Summary: Marianne's terribly grateful that Hilda bothers to look out for someone like her. Even if some of her favors are a bit...unusual.
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Series: FE3H Wankfic [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862374
Comments: 23
Kudos: 67
Collections: Horny Void, Wank Week 2020





	The Gift of Poise

**Author's Note:**

> These two. That support chain. Holy cow.  
> As is hopefully clear from the tags and summary, this is a slightly darker take on HildaMari, in case that's not your thing!
> 
> Written for day 2 of FE3H Wank Week - Public Places (/Fantasizing)

Marianne's not sure what she did to earn the attention of someone like Hilda.

More than anyone else she's met, Hilda treats her almost like...a friend. Even at school, she was always looking out for her, trying to make sure she was included, saving her from embarrassment, covering for her failings so they didn't drag everyone else down. Marianne's so grateful, but she wishes she could be...more, for her. Better.

She'd been proud of how she'd changed in the past few years, indulgently imagined that Hilda might take a look at her new, more confident self and be...impressed. But if she's managed to polish off her dull edges in the past few years, then Hilda has _blossomed._ She's flawless, radiant, daring. Marianne had dreamed that she might be ready to stand next to Hilda as an equal, but beside the new Hilda, she still feels wan and frumpy.

When she's not dwelling on her own deficiencies, though, it's lovely even to be able to bask in Hilda's sparkle. She's looking as perfectly groomed as always in this morning's war council, like she was plucked from a ballroom and deposited into the masses who just threw some clothes on for the day.

“Marianne!” Hilda flags her down as they're leaving. She leans in conspiratorially, her earrings bouncing fetchingly with the tilt of her head. “Stop by my room later. I've got a present for you.”

“Oh!” Marianne blinks. “But I didn't get you anything.”

Hilda giggles. “Of course not. I didn't expect you to, silly. This is just a little favor from me.”

“Oh.” Marianne feels her face heating up. “Well then, thank you.”

“Don't thank me before you've even seen it. I could've gotten you another one of those self-help books on cleaning or something.” She winks. “Seriously, though, you're gonna love it.”

\--

Hilda didn't say exactly _when_ Marianne should stop by her room, so Marianne does some of her chores first. An hour or so before lunch, she goes to check if Hilda's in her room, and finds her sitting on the bed, tapping her foot.

“ _There_ you are,” Hilda says, standing. “I was beginning to think you weren't gonna show up!”

“Sorry!” Oh no, how long was Hilda waiting for her? “I wasn't sure when you wanted me to stop by.”

“Well, I guess you're here now, so it's fine. Come on, step inside, shut the door!” She vigorously waves Marianne into the room and locks the door behind her. “I've been working on some special accessories, just for you.”

“R-really?” Is it really okay that she didn't get Hilda anything in return?

“Yeah! Marianne, you're always looking at your feet, right? Sooo, I thought of a way to help you!” Hilda bounces on her heels, walking over to a chest of drawers and pulling out a flat lacquered box.

“Am I?” Marianne winces. “I...thought I'd gotten better.”

“Well, yeah, a little bit, but you still do it a _lot_.” Hilda carefully sets the box down on the bed and opens the lid to reveal some things that look like jewelry. “This'll be much more efficient than trying to _think_ yourself out of it.”

Marianne looks more closely. There are some chains and ribbons she can't make sense of, a strand of tiny pearls, and a pair of gleaming blue gemstone drops with some sort of clips attached. “Oh! Are those earrings?” She's not sure how those will help her stand up straighter, but they're lovely, if rather heavy-looking. Maybe Hilda wants to dress her up in things she'll want to show off?

Hilda laughs. “Not quite.”

“Really? How do you wear them, then?” Maybe they clip onto an outfit?

“You'll have to take off your clothes to put it on,” Hilda says, as if that's fairly typical.

“O-oh.” Well, Hilda knows fashion better than she does. Whatever pretty thing Hilda made for her probably won't sit right on top of her bulky dress. She takes off her shawl and overgown and sets them on the bed, then hesitantly removes her gown when Hilda looks like she's still waiting.

“There,” she says, standing in just her corset and petticoats. She feels her cheeks heating up.

Hilda shakes her head. “No, no, you have to take off your underthings, too.”

“M-my underthings? But—” _What kind of jewelry is this?_

“Come on.” Hilda sets a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We're both girls, aren't we? It's fine.”

“I...guess you're right.” She's being silly. She pushes down her petticoats and unlaces her stays. Unties her pockets. Inhales. Takes off her bloomers and undershirt.

“There we go.” Hilda shakes her head. “Wow, you're really old-fashioned, huh? Tie-on pockets and bloomers?”

“I—”

Hilda doesn't seem to be expecting a response—she's walking around Marianne in a brisk circle, looking her nude body up and down. “Those frumpy underthings aren't going to work with the accessories I made for you—but fortunately, I thought this might end up being the case!” She reaches back into the drawer she'd pulled the jewelry box out of.

Marianne's already-warm cheeks feel like they might burst into flames. Frumpy? She'd known her underthings weren't the most fashionable, but—she hadn't been expecting anyone else would need to _see_ them!

Hilda returns with a piece of stiff fabric that she holds up against Marianne's waist. It's an underbust corset like the one she wears herself, lined like it's intended to be worn under clothes, white trimmed with pale blue ribbon. “Perfect!” She wraps it around Marianne's waist and hooks it closed in front, stepping behind her to tighten the laces.

“Ah—shouldn't it lace in front?” Marianne asks hesitantly.

“Oh! Sorry, I should've known you'd have trouble with backlacing,” Hilda says apologetically, pulling the laces taut in quick efficient pulls. “It's not cut right to lace in front, but not to worry—just swing by my room when you want it off and Hilda will take care of everything.”

“Th-thank you,” Marianne says automatically.

Hilda ties off the corset snug around her waist, but she still feels so exposed—her waist is covered but her breasts and bum are still hanging out in the open air. At least Hilda let her keep her...stockings on?

Rather than returning to the chest for a bra and panties, Hilda turns back to the desk and picks up the two gemstone baubles she'd said weren't earrings, along with a length of silver chain. “Now then, here's the important part!” Without warning, she flicks her thumb over Marianne's nipples, already peaked from the cool air, until they're stiff and flushed.

A gasp punches out of her. “What are you—”

“There we go!” With a satisfied nod, Hilda holds one of the gemstone clips up to the nipple she'd just beset. Marianne can feel the cool metal of the clasp closing over her skin, and suddenly her nipple's being _pinched,_ firm but not hard enough to be painful.

Hilda releases the clasp to clip its match onto her other breast—and all at once that heavy gemstone dangles free, its full weight hanging off her breast, tugging at her nipple like she's caught it between two fingers and is _pulling_. Like...like she does when she touches herself, sometimes.

Upon clamping the other gemstone into place, Hilda claps her hands excitedly, as casual as if she'd just fixed Marianne's hair rather than decorated her nipples. “Wow! They look amazing on you, Marianne. I just knew they would.”

Marianne clears her throat. “Hilda, I'm not sure...I'm not sure I can wear these. They're very...heavy.”

“That's the point, silly! All part of the plan.” She takes Marianne's nipple—no, the clasp—between her fingers and attaches one end of the chain through a loop Marianne hadn't noticed. The chain loops behind her head and hooks onto the other clasp. Hilda steps behind her and fiddles with a ring joining the two halves of the chain behind her neck, until the whole thing pulls tight.

“How does that feel?” Hilda asks, hand still hovering over the chain. Her fingertips are brushing the small hairs at the nape of Marianne's neck. “Not too heavy, right?”

“It's—a lot better, yes.” The chain lifts most of the weight off her nipples, so there's just the squeezing sensation. Which is distracting, but...livable.

Hilda steps back with a grin. “Now look down at your feet.”

Marianne looks down—at the baubles clamped onto her nipples, honestly, but hopefully that's close enough to— _oh!_

Bending her neck forward introduces enough give to the chain that the heavy gemstones it was holding up plummet, their full weight dangling off her nipples.

Hilda smiles at her gasp. “ _That'll_ help you notice if you're looking down, right? I've got another chain that can string between them for some extra weight, but I figure we can try it like this the first time.”

The...first time?

“Now then!” Hilda continues blithely, returning to the desk. “Just for a little extra motivation, we've got the rest of this.” She picks up what looks like a mass of ribbons, arranges it in her hands until two loops emerge. That strand of small pearls Marianne noticed earlier is attached somehow, suspended between them. “Step into that for me.”

As...underwear? It doesn't look like it will cover her very well, but if Hilda made it just for her...

Marianne tries to take it from her hands, and it promptly falls back into an incomprehensible tangle. Oh no.

Hilda shakes her head. “I guess I'll have to handle this myself. Give it here.” She wrangles it back into tidy loops and crouches down on one knee, holding it out for Marianne to step into.

It's really just...one thin cord between her legs. The other ribbons wrap around her hips, criss-cross over her body via a series of quick gestures she has no hope of following. Hilda's fingers keep brushing her skin, holding a ribbon in place here, tying a knot there.

Her skin's prickling in anticipation of the next brief touch. When Hilda's fingers trace over her lower back to tie the ribbons into place just above her bum, her body wants to curl back into it. _Stop. Don't embarrass yourself_.

Far more quickly than she would have thought, the tangle of ribbons has become a tidy pattern of blue on her body, except for one long loose strand dangling down the back. Hilda winds it through the other ribbons crossing over Marianne's lower back, and when she pulls it tight, Marianne realizes it's directly connected to that string between her legs. The pearls draw up snug along her slit, just close enough to tease.

Hilda secures the last ribbon to the ring in the chain behind her neck. “Look down again for me.” Unannounced, her hand cups the front of Marianne's groin, finger resting lightly on the strand of pearls over her clit. She makes a small noise of dissatisfaction when Marianne complies, adjusts the ribbon with her other hand. “Again.”

The pearls abruptly slide up tight against her, pressing firmly into her clit. She gasps, feeling her pussy clench at the sensation.

“ _There_ we go!” Hilda says cheerfully, tightening the ribbon into place. She releases Marianne's crotch. “You can stand up straight again.”

Marianne hastily complies, sighing in relief as the pressure on her nipples and clit lets up. It's unconventional, but...maybe this will help? It can't be worse than that tutor who'd rap her knuckles every time she slouched during lessons. And she can't imagine how much effort Hilda must have put into making all this for her. It would be terribly rude to throw that back in her face by refusing to wear it.

There's a tiny wet gleam on the finger Hilda used to hold the pearls in place, how _mortifying._ Blessedly, she doesn't comment on it as she steps back and surveys her handiwork. “You look absolutely _stunning_ , Marianne! Your natural coloring really brings out the potential in those gemstones. I couldn't pull them off half as well.”

The praise curls hot in her stomach, a dark sort of secret thrill that feels illicit in a way she can't pin down. Hilda thinks she looks nice.

“It seems a shame to cover it up, buuut I guess we don't have much choice if you want to leave my room, huh.” Hilda hands her her undershirt and petticoats. “You can put those back on. Next time we'll get you some cuter things to go with it though, all right?”

“A—all right,” she says, pulling the undershirt over her head. She's still not sure when “next time” is supposed to be, but she supposes that she's not likely to finish breaking a bad habit overnight.

Even with her nudity covered, the sensation of clamps on her nipples and a cord between the cheeks of her rear makes her feel embarrassingly vulnerable. She can feel the fabric of her petticoat swishing over her bum whenever she shifts her weight, see the baubles on her nipples outlined through her undershirt. “Anything else?” she asks hopefully.

“Nope, just your gown! It's important that these accessories be free to move,” Hilda says, holding out her undergown. “Don't worry, your clothes are conservative enough that no one should notice.”

She pulls her gown over her head with trepidation, sighing in relief when she looks down and confirms that the ruching obscures the bumps from the clips. Once she gets her overgown and shawl on, it's more or less unnoticeable.

“You can just wear them for a few hours to start, okay?” Hilda says, tucking Marianne's hair back into place where it's been mussed. “We can work up to more.”

To more? Marianne's eyes widen as she considers the concept of going about her entire day like this. She's worried enough at the thought of a couple hours.

“Just come find me when you want it off,” Hilda continues. “I'll be expecting a full report of how it went!”

“R-right,” Marianne says.

“All right then! Off with you!” Hilda gently swats her on the rear, urging her towards the door. “Get out there and stand up tall!”

–-

Getting to the stairs isn't that bad. She can feel a faint blush rising to her cheeks, as the pearls press gently on her mound with each step and remind her that her quim is practically bare under her skirts, but it's not much worse than standing still was.

The stairs are...harder. Each step digs the pearls more firmly against her slit, and bounces the stones hanging off her nipples just enough to tug. But soon enough she's at the bottom, and ready to go on with her day. With something a little different under her clothes. It's fine.

She makes it to the stables—more stairs—without looking down at her feet, even manages a stiff smile at the people who wave at her along the way.

“I guess this is probably nothing compared to a bridle, huh?” she asks, running a comb through Dorte's mane. “I'm sorry they make you wear that. If you don't complain, I won't either.”

Dorte huffs sympathetically, flicking his tail.

“I don't know, I bet corsets are a little bit like a saddle. Although...I don't have people trying to sit on my back afterwards like you do.”

Dorte snorts. Yes, that was an unfair comparison.

Bending down to check his hooves has her gritting her teeth and squirming, but fortunately they're in good shape, and no one is around to see her. This...isn't so bad, really. She can manage this.

The bell sounds—they'll be serving lunch soon. She bids Dorte farewell and washes up, making her way to the dining hall with a bit more confidence than she'd had on her way to the stables. The threat of the weights on her nipples is just present enough to keep her from unconsciously slipping into a more soothing posture, but not so distracting she can't focus. She'd thought this plan strange, but she should've trusted Hilda. How clever and thoughtful of her.

She gets a tray of food—don't bend, don't bend—intending to find a secluded corner where she can eat without attracting attention. Instead, she nearly bumps into Lorenz, heading over to the tables himself.

“Marianne! What a pleasure to see you here. I am dining with Hilda, come join us.”

Oh dear. At least it's Hilda and not someone else. “S-sure,” she agrees, following him to the table.

Hilda, already seated, gives her a bright little wave as she approaches. “Hey Marianne!”

“Hello, Hilda.” She tries to smile naturally. She thought she'd finally mastered it, but from the strained feel on her face, she still needs some practice under pressure.

Hilda watches with interest as she carefully sets down her tray and pulls out a chair. She starts to sit down— _eep!_

Her breath audibly catches as the gemstones plummet when she lowers her weight. She manages to continue sitting instead of jumping up, carefully straightens her back—only to have the chair press the pearls snugly along her entire slit. She bites her lip, trying to control her breathing.

“Marianne? Are you feeling unwell?” Lorenz frowns, leaning in solicitously. “You should not strain yourself if you're injured—do you need me to escort you to the infirmary?”

“I'm fine.” She manages to keep her voice strong, to smile evenly. “Thank you for your concern.”

The thing about Lorenz is that once you get him on the right topic, the conversation mostly handles itself. Marianne dutifully picks at her food, trying to ignore the way she can feel the pearls getting slippery under her.

Hilda's chiming in on the conversation, dropping the right lines to keep Lorenz going, but for most of the meal her eyes are fixed on Marianne, occasionally dropping to where they both know the clamps are affixed under her gown. For some reason, feeling Hilda's gaze on her makes it...hard to not squirm a little, which isn't helping things.

Finally, the meal is finished and they start to leave. Standing up—isn't so bad. She can do this.

She leans down to pick up her tray too abruptly and feels a tiny noise escape her at the sharp tug on her nipples.

Thankfully, Lorenz doesn't notice. But Hilda catches her eye and _smirks_.

A wave of embarrassment hits her, paired with a strange spike of heat that has her blushing even harder. “I—I have to go,” she mumbles, fleeing to deposit her tray.

What should she do? She can't ask Hilda to take the jewelry off already, it's barely been an hour. She can't sit down and read.

Maybe...maybe she needs to ask the goddess for strength. Yes. That's a good idea.

The walk to the cathedral is harrowing. Walking on level ground wasn't so bad before, but now that her folds are slick and swollen with arousal, the tiny movements of the pearls along her slit have her fighting to control her breathing, to keep her face impassive. Finally, she arrives at the base of the steps. It's fine. There aren't too many. She can do this.

One of the priests gives her a welcoming smile as she ascends the stairs. Her fingernails dig into her palms as she returns it. So close.

Things always feel a bit...quieter, once you step into the cathedral. The building has a weight to it that permeates the very air, and not even the hole in the ceiling can fully diminish it.

Choir practice is starting to assemble, the pews filling with monks and soldiers gathering to sing praises, but the area around the altar—what used to be the altar—is mostly empty.

She clasps her hands together. Bows her head to pray.

 _Oh no_.

How could she have been such an idiot? Why didn't she realize this was going to happen?

She...she needs to endure it. Complete her prayer. Everyone in the back has seen her walk up to pray now—the _goddess_ has seen her come to pray now. And it would be disrespectful to raise her head while supplicating herself to the goddess.

_Dear Goddess, I beseech you, please grant me strength..._

Her clasped hands tremble, causing her forearms to jostle the gemstones dangling beneath her bodice.

_Strength to endure this current trial, and all the trials I shall face in the future..._

The pearls press into her swollen clit, which is throbbing hungrily.

_...to learn from them, and emerge a wiser and more capable person._

She tries to adjust her posture to something that will lessen the pressure of her jewelry, but all she accomplishes is making the pearls slide against her clit. She can feel her face becoming hot.

_Give me the strength to better myself, so that I may find the power to better the lots of others._

Unbidden, a tiny whimper forms in her throat as the tug on her nipples becomes increasingly distracting.

_Dear Goddess, please, grant me strength._

She raises her head the instant she finishes, too quickly she's sure. Hopefully the goddess will understand.

She presses her hands to her face and finds her cheeks burning. No doubt her face is flaming red. The arousal isn't letting up. She needs to go back to her room and deal with this.

But...she can't walk back out of the cathedral like this! Past all those people in the choir...and if it's this bad now, what sort of mess will she be by the time she gets back across the bridge, much less to the greenhouse or up the stairs? How many people will she run into along the way?

She needs to calm down a little. Somewhere less exposed. With careful steps, she makes her way over to the side room devoted to the four saints. It's empty, as usual.

Even though she's standing straight again, the string of pearls hasn't fully slackened. It got wedged far enough into her slit that now her lower lips are holding it in place, keeping it where it rubs against her with each small movement. She needs to fix it if she wants to make it back to her room. But to get to the nearest privy, she'd still have to walk all the way past the choir...

Eyes fixed nervously on the door, she turns so that her side is facing the wall and slides a careful hand into the slit for her pocket. Hilda hadn't let her tie them back on, so she reaches deeper, to where they'd normally be tied between her petticoats and bloomers, and hits the bare skin of her thigh.

Oh, she can't believe she's doing this. She creeps her hand further in until her fingers hit the curls at her groin. They're shamefully damp. She traces her fingertips over the outside of her pussy, feeling for the strand of pearls pressed between her lips. It's wedged up between them, she can't hook her finger under it from the outside.

Carefully, she works her finger under where the pearls disappear between her lips, slides the pad down along her slit to draw the strand out. She's so...wet. Her finger strokes over her clit as she nudges the pearls out and she has to choke down a gasp.

Almost of its own volition, her hand abandons its extraction mission in favor of sliding another finger between her lips and rubbing a firm circle over her clit. _Oh no, what is she doing_?

She works her hand deeper into her dress.

Look at her, this was supposed to be the easy introduction! Hilda had said she had another chain, one that went between the two clamps. Her mind leaps to the thought of standing nude in Hilda's room again as Hilda intently fastens the clamps to her nipples again, a chain between them this time. The savage, shameful part of her brain won't leave things innocent—she imagines Hilda looking her up and down with satisfaction in her eyes, Hilda hooking her finger in that chain and _tugging_ with the same smirk she'd given in the dining hall.

Her quim is hot and slick under her hand, eager for touch. Her hand is shoved too far into her dress, there's no way anyone who took a good look would believe she's getting something out of her pocket. It's okay. No one's coming yet. She just needs to take the edge off so she can make it back to her room. She needs to hurry.

She brings her free hand up to her bodice, gently flicks one of the clamps through her dress. How had Hilda set up the chain and weights with such precision? There's no way she made them completely blind. She must've tested them out. On herself?

The image of the same clamps hanging off Hilda's gorgeous chest flares hot in her mind. Did she wear them under her clothes to test them? Did Marianne talk with her while she was doing it and never know?

That beast in her mind imagines clamping her teeth around the fastening mechanism, squeezing the clamp off and letting it fall to reveal a nipple that would surely be red and a little sore—sinking her jaw into the flesh of Hilda's tit and _thrashing_ like a predator trying to snap its prey's neck.

Her hand is moving in a frenzy, elbow jerking in a manner that would surely give her away if someone were to enter. Her entire palm is slippery with her slick, as she jumps back and forth from rubbing her clit to dipping testing fingers up inside herself, feeling how hot and wet and silky she is inside.

She wonders if Hilda would feel the same way if Marianne were to work a finger up inside her—two, maybe, pump them in and out while she leaves bite marks all over Hilda's tits. Oh, but that would be so deplorably brutal of her, after Hilda's tried so hard to help her with her shortcomings. How would she make it up? Pastries wouldn't be enough. She'd have to grovel, search desperately for some way to make up for the inconvenience. And just look at what a beast Hilda's well-intentioned gift has turned her into! She'll have to be good, have to try so hard, make sure to get Hilda whatever she wants to make it up to her...

Her cunt pulses under her hand and a full body shudder comes over her, her hand landing on the pedestal of Macuil's statue as she fights to stay upright on trembling knees. _Oh Goddess, what is she doing?_

Struggling to calm her breathing, she carefully extracts her hand from her skirts. She bites the inside of her lip when she sees the clear strands suspended between her fingers. Oh no—her handkerchief is in her pocket, still back in Hilda's room.

She'll just have to make do. She straightens her skirts with her clean hand, making sure her pocket slit is drawn tight. Taking a deep breath, she starts the long walk out of the cathedral with her slick palm balled awkwardly against her side.

None of the people she passes in the choir seem to notice what an embarrassment she is—or at least, they're too polite to show it on their faces. She takes a slow breath of relief as she steps outside and the goddess doesn't immediately strike her down. She'll need to come back and pray for forgiveness later. Once she's...not likely to end up in the same situation again.

It's easy to remember to keep her gaze up, though.

As she makes her way across the bridge, she realizes with a fresh surge of shame that she never even thanked Hilda properly for the thoughtful gift.

She'll have to find some way to make it up to her.


End file.
